


Hermione the Tomboy

by JustSuperMione



Series: R/Hr canon missing moments [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSuperMione/pseuds/JustSuperMione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Hogwarts to Hogwarts Missing moment fic. A chance meeting in Diagon Alley changes Hermione from a Tomboy to the Bookworm we love. Includes Hermione reading in her treehouse, seeing the magical world for the first time then Ron knocks her off her feet. PLUS the bathroom troll situation from Hermione's POV. It's all fun until a wand goes up a trolls nose!</p>
<p>This is the first story in my Hermione and Ron canon compliant missing moment universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treehouse

**Author's Note:**

> Whenever I read/watch or listen to a Harry Potter book/movie I can't shake the feeling that the really interesting story is going on where Harry couldn't see. Between the lines, moments way from their best-friend develops Ron and Hermione's relationship. 
> 
> This is the start of my R/Hr missing moment canon-verse. Every story relates and interweaves.
> 
> A funny, romantic (sometimes bizarre) look at Hogwarts favourite sidekicks.

**Hermione the Tomboy**

**In canon, Hermione isn’t a girly girl. She gets on better with the boys than her room mates. This is a story that explores why. It’s also the starts of my Ron and Hermione missing moment universe.**

** Chapter One: The Tree House **

Hermione sat on her beanbag trying to read her book; _trying_ being the operative word. When she'd exited her house, freshly breakfasted the sun had shone. The only sound was breeze in the trees, the music of her mother’s stereo and the twitter of the odd bird.

Her tree house was usually a quiet place of escape; sanctuary from hers parents. It was _hers_. Where she read comics, thought or immersed herself in any number of books that lined her bookshelf.

Hermione had a little of everything up there. She had fiction beloved Greek mythology and literature classics like Dickens, Austin and Bronte, to more recent works by Dahl. She had factual tomes as well, history books rested against Anne Frank’s diary. She’d retreat into her books because to learn about the world beyond here (and to pick up words useful in scrabble matches against her parents.

This morning, her mother was practicing for her part in the local amateur dramatic production of _Hello Dolly_. And, although she enjoyed show tunes… _Maybe enjoy was a slight over statement_. She wanted some peace to finish her book and calm down from her mounting level of excitement.

Today was the day her life would change.

“When should we start getting ready”’ an urgent voice asked in an excitable whisper drifted from below her. Hermione groaned.

Her tree house was wonderful in all ways but one. It was beside next doors hedge and although she couldn't see Ashley and Britney properly, she could hear them.

Ashley, a giggly girl from her class, had invited her friend Britney, another giggly girl, for a sleep over. Hermione knew this because it had been it subject of their insistent conversation since they started sunbathing at ten thirty; also, tonight they were going to tonight.

They really were the stereotypical tweenagers. In her formative years, Hermione had mentally nicknamed the collective of pink obsessed, rather spoilt girls the Princesses; because that's all they ever wanted to play; not to mention act like and be. Naming the collective girls who bullied her; some without realising it, made them easier to deal with. She was Hermione and they were a part of the collective _other_ that she didn’t understand.

As a younger child Hermione had tried to join in with their games once or twice to be friendly. She said that the Princesses should care more about their people than their appearance and get a job... Ashley and Britney had just laughed.

Then, a couple of months ago, while waiting her father to get off his computer –she was on a very delicate level of her detective game and was bursting to complete it –she'd read an article in her father's paper calling girls of her age tweenagers.

The article said that tweenagers were an interesting consumer market because they were too old for dolls but too young for boys; her mind instantly went to the bullies. They still acted like Princess she re-labelled them the tweenage Princesses. This was a label that she felt somehow apt for those two next door.

Normally, when the Princesses invaded Ashley's back garden Hermione would jump on her bike and cycle the two miles to the swimming baths or the library or she'd walk her Springer Spaniel Max. Today she was trapped until after lunch when Professor McGonagall would come and take her and her parents into a new world.

Hermione started to run her fingers through her hair, as she did whenever she was nervous. Her only concern about today was that it was rather humid. She looked down at her up turned cap that lay at her feet. She knew that today would be fun; if a little tortuous for her with her hair in her cap making her head itch. It was worth it; rather an itchy scalp than her hair drawing attention to her while she was out.

Unobserved was best for her trip into Diagon Ally; especially today on her very first trip to the new world that waited for her. Her trip to Diagon Ally, she knew, was nothing more than a glorified shopping trip. She didn't care. It was going to be her first taste of the community she belonged to.

She would buy books, immersing herself in the world that she was to become a part of, so for the first time in her life, she'd effortlessly fit in.

She looked at the digital watch she's won off her cousin Derik for a swim race they'd had the summer before. Derik hadn't only been Hermione's cousin, he was her best friend. Boys like Derik, she reflected, are less complex than girls and so easier to get on with. Unfortunately, her cousin lived far away so the times she could play with him was limited.

It wasn't time to go yet. McGonagall wouldn't arrive for another three quarters of an hour. Hermione tried to imagine what Professor McGonagall would look time; but she couldn't concentrate because the Princess' hadn’t finished giggling about the upcoming party.

Hermione tried to read her book; she'd give her entire comic collection not to have to listen to them chatter like that. The subject had now finally shifted from their sleep over and the upcoming disco to their dream man and wedding.

This was a talk Ashley and Britney often had. From what she could make out both were going to look like a Barbie doll in puffy meringues; preferably pink meringue. She remembered the time when she'd tried to fit in with this game of theirs. However, no matter how hard she tried she could never come up with anything juicy enough for them. She'd only said she'd like someone who was funny, that she could argue with and that she thought blue eyes were nice.

Soon after that, Hermione stopped trying to fit in with them. Realising she wasn't like them.

Take crying for example: Ashley and Britney liked a good cry. When they fell over they cried (which was understandable: although, Hermione just went to a first aider when she fell and got on with it). When a character in one from their favourite soaps died, they cried (which Hermione couldn't quite comprehend. And she couldn't stand soaps: but thought it must be similar to being moved by literature).

Instead Hermione spend her time in her retreat, her tree house where she could sit upside down to read. Where there were other colours than pink and lilac and where no one would bother her.

"Hermione," she heard her mother call from next to the tree house steps. "Your visitor will be coming soon." Hermione got up and half smiled down at her mother about to respond when her mother cried out in horror. "You're not ready."

"I am ready actually, mother," she said picking up her cap and starting to climb down. When she was half way, she jumped to her mother's side: grinning. Her mother rolled her eyes. "See I'm all clean and prepared. I have dad's sunglasses, my cap and am even wearing clean clothes. They're not muddy or anything."

Her mother looked her up and down. It was true. Hermione was spotless.

"Well, you are clean," her mother said with a sigh. "May I suggest you put your hair up...?” She said stroking Hermione's hair.

Hermione smiled and dipped her head down, ready to tuck it away in her cap when her mother grabbed the cap; holding it between them.

"No Hermione, not in the cap. I was thinking: plait or ponytail. We don't want you head scratchy, do we?" she smiled as she led Hermione to the house and an awaiting plate of sandwiches. Hermione sighed and put her cap in her back pocket, hiding it with her t-shirt. She knew her mother didn't like her being a tomboy, but she had accepted that Hermione liked not living up to a girly stereotype.

Forty minutes later, Hermione and her parents were waiting their living room. There was a knock at the door and Hermione raced to answer it.

She opened the door and there stood a woman in a beautifully tailored linen suit.

"Good Afternoon Hermione," she said with a smile. "My name is Professor McGonagall."

"Good Afternoon Professor. Please come in," Hermione said politely, as she opened the door wider and stood aside.

Professor McGonagall walked in and greeted her parents warmly. And for the first time that day, Hermione genuinely, without reservation, smiled.

 ...

**Next chapter: Diagon Ally**


	2. Just a moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and her parents go to Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear for it is I, JustSuperMione... Even though I rewrote some of this in a coffee shop but I am NOT J.K. Rowling’s or Warner Brothers so don't sue me! 
> 
> This is dedicated to that awkward moment at 3am when you realise that a fic you posted 3 years ago is missing the KEY middle chapter. DOH! 
> 
> P.S. Even though it has greatly improved with the rewrite; I can't spell, or use grammar for toffee!

The girl felt a bit like a spy on a recon mission. This disguise was more than avoiding the Princesses as her mother shopped. Everything around her was new and exciting. It took all her concentration to hold back her enthusiasm. Her father’s sunglasses masked most of her face so she was free to stare at people. Her most feminine feature, her long bushy hair, was tucked safely inside her battered baseball cap. She was wearing a plain baggy t-shirt and jeans. She glanced back at the bookshop she’d just exited and noticed the boy her reflection appeared to be.  

 

 _I don’t look like a boy,_ Hermione thought, _I look like a muggle born wizard buying school supplies_.

 

Hermione Jean Granger was surprisingly excited buying these school supplies. Her arms were already full of new and interesting things; supplies’ for the adventure that would be her new life. She always loved books, reading alone; in her tree house was her favourite activity. Now she had some important new material. Quickly, she followed her beaming parents, fascinated by everything around them. This wasn’t the kind of shopping trip for just pens, pencil and a new uniform. This was a magical shopping trip.

 

Her mother stopped by nearly every shop window, wondering quietly how they could have not seen the wizarding community, which was all around them, until now. The Alley was full of the extraordinary people Hermione had often thought she’d noticed popping here and there. She was extraordinary too.

 

This Alley, for example, was  _full_  of people and shops that would look more at home in a children’s book than the  _‘real’_  world. Here, Hermione was surrounded by people like her. They were wearing cloaks but they were like her;  _normal_  witches and wizards, all going along their  _normal_  day; with their magic, their wands and everything. It was just so very exciting.

 

Just ahead, her parent’s, were waiting patiently outside of a shop, peering anxiously in. Hermione grinned; now for another first on Diagon Alley; her first potions ingredients. She’d already bought her text books;  _text books_  about magic, magic that she would learn and do. Later, she would her first wand, a wand, a real magic wand.

 

Purposefully, Hermione walked into the apothecary her list in hand. As she handed it to the lady behind the counter and marvelled at the potion ingredients like boomslang, lacewing and wolfbane, as her order was filled.

 

The heavy packages she carried tethered her to this new world that seemed so much like a dream. The world around her was a dream come true. As excited as she was, she still had a scared unsure feeling. As she continued to walk, she reeled off the odd things that being magical explained as evidence she belonged here.

 

Like the time she’d seen a fairy; an actual, real life, fairy. It had been in her garden, bold as anything and vain as the preening tweenage princesses that bullied her. Not that Hermione had ever dreamed of telling anyone – they’d think she was mad and send her to a special ‘doctor’.

 

There was the time her mother focused her to taking ballet classes and the only thing she enjoyed was the pirouettes because when she was alone she spun so fast she would floated. For a few moments, she forgot that she was plain, un-pretty Hermione with no friends.

 

Her father insisted on carrying her potions ingredients. Her mother insisted on using her new cauldron like a handbag. Joking about how pretty she looked. Hermione rolled her eyes, glad she wasn’t as beautiful as her mother. Hermione was actually happy with her plainness because she knew when boys started noticing girls as ‘girls’, she would be left alone to her books and own thoughts. She’d rather stop reading forever than be concerned about what boys thought about her; unlike the other girls in her class. Always make believing about the man they’d marry in their perfect wedding.  

 

As they left the shop, a gaggle of young witches passed by talking about their classes. Hogwart’s girls were already so different from the ones at her old school. Obsessed about love; love, she’d noticed in her younger years, made girls in her school crazy. The girls in her year all idolised the older girls that used the lower school bathrooms, to cry or giggle over their latest beau. Hermione thought she’d prefer to have boys as friends rather than obsessing needlessly over them. Not that she had any experience in that area. She went to a Private Girls School catering for young ladies from three till eighteen years old. That was the odd thing about her school; no boys there and yet, they were always spending valuable free time preening and gossiping; Hermione reckoned she would miss secretly laughing at them when she went to her new school.

 

Her Private Girls School classmates were obsessed with their appearance and spoke of nothing but fluff (which was mind numbingly boring). They were distracting when Hermione was trying to concentrate on the ballet moves she needed to pass the class and have a dance free life. Apart from magically pirouetting, Hermione hated the dance classes her mother made her attend. Hermione had laughed; her mother had rolled her eyes:

 

_“Why would one need to know how to dance, mother?” Hermione had earnestly asked safe in her tree house. “It isn’t like I’m going to be going to a ball, am I? I’m not like Cinderella or any other fairy tale type character in a movie. We live in the suburbs not an enchanted castle. I will never be invited to a ball. And even if I were invited, why would I even want to go? I’d have to wear a dress and tame my hair; that would torture and torture is against the Geneva Convention. What would make me torture myself like that? I would never have reason enough to do it.”_

Somehow, to further dance classes she’d found herself!

 

As she stepped out of the shop she noticed the window display across the street: _Twilfit and Tattings_. The robes in there looked suitable for special occasions. A stray thought struck her, as they often did; now she  _was_  going to live in an enchanted castle. What if there was a ball? She still didn’t think she’d want to go but anything seemed possible. How would she survive the ball? How would she survive the enchanted castle itself?

 

 _How would I cope in this new world?_ She wondered as she followed her parents again. _By being with your own kind and making friends..._ she thought gleefully. She’d always been a jigsaw piece in the wrong puzzle; but now she’d fit.

 

The first piece of the puzzle was finding out she was a witch. An owl delivering mail was certainly the oddest thing that had happened to her dentist parents. But, it hadn’t felt odd for Hermione because it explained all the odd things that happened to her. The letter explained that a teacher would come to take her and her parents to get her school supplies.

 

That’s how, that very morning, she’d met Professor McGonagall, who had taken her and her parents to Diagon Alley. Meeting Professor McGonagall had been,  _well_ , just the biggest  _thrill_  because she was someone so like Hermione and yet different. She was old, but smart and graceful; with an air about her that said  _don’t-mess-with-me_. Just the kind of woman Hermione aspired to be.

 

Professor McGonagall had impressed Hermione with her kind and helpful nature. She could tell that McGonagall was a hard but fair teacher; her new priority was to impress and please her. She didn’t think that anything could be as important as that. There certainly wasn’t anything that would delay her in achieving that goal.

 

As soon as they’d reached Gringott’s, Hermione peppered Professor McGonagall with interesting questions about the wizarding community in England. How they communicated, what kind of entertainment they had... as soon as they got to the bank Hermione became distracted by the chatter of the people around her. Yesterday, someone had managed to successful break into a vault. Hermione was struck with wonder; she couldn’t help but imagine how it had been done. Professor McGonagall seemed just as interested and they’d had an engaging time theorising various scenarios.

 

Goblin’s, seemed so clever and scary; Hermione wondered what would ever possess a wizard or witch to even attempt it. Her mind had been contemplating such things when they’d started shopping. Professor McGonagall, however, had to go after that.

 

As she left, Hermione fleeting wondered whether her hair would fit under a witch’s pointy hat. She reasoned that it wouldn’t and when she got to school she’d have to manage it. Frustrated she sighed hating her hair because it went everywhere and made her look like a girl. Having short hair would fix both problems, and then she’d not have to deal with it anymore.

 

Her mother had refused to see reason. Even when she’d argued that short hair would allow her more study time... Her mother retorted that – seeing as Hermione had spent the last few years ‘coasting’: that was invalid. She hated losing arguments.

 

Arguments, in the Granger home, in actuality, were only  _ever_  minor disagreements. Everyone had a view and could discuss it when they needed, in a rational way. Minor disagreements, like questions were what made life fun. Her mother and she had always had minor disagreements.  In fact, the opportunity to have  _minor_ disagreements with someone was something Hermione would miss most about home. Arguing just made her feel alive and challenged: these exchanges, with her mother, were some of her best memories; like the time she wanted a tree house, to read in instead of a Wendy house to ‘play dress up or dolls in... well her mother had had the last laugh there because Hermione was scared of heights. Not that that ever stopped her.

 

In fact, one of her first signs of magic was because of a disagreement. When she was six, there was a non-school uniform day and her mother had picked out a dress for her. Hermione had recently started to assert her identity, choosing baggy and non-descript clothes instead of the feminine clothes her mother favoured. Her mother had compromised; letting her go to school in jeans but insisting she wear a pink t-shirt. However, by the time she’d arrived at school, it had turned ‘boisterous’ navy. That’s when her mother had stopped fighting it and accepted she had a Tom boy for a daughter.

 

Today, whoever her mother had a moment of victory... Hermione was sure when she was trying on her robes and it looked like she was wearing a dress. Now, for a minute, Hermione was going to verbally extrapolate the cultural differences of the magical world; as she knew the so far.  The mere fact that her mother was confusing her new cultural attire, for a dress, was downright, disrespectful, to the wizard’s and witches, whose cultural practice it was to don robes. So, she should stop smiling like  _that_  because it was insulting, on a socio-cultural level.

 

Hermione, for the first time, refrained from arguing: enjoying instead the experience of being magical in a magical place. Her mother couldn’t understand this and it made Hermione feel sad. Her parents might have felt that way too but they were determined to hide the fact. This made Hermione smile at her parents, and then she closed her mouth quickly.

 

By the time she was nine; all Hermione’s baby teeth had fallen out. All except for her two front teeth. They didn’t bother her but for some unknown reason her teeth bothered the bullies. Her parents whom could have helped decided to  _‘let nature take its course’_. As such, her smile had  _bothered_  her when she was out.

 

So for nearly three years all those giggling Princesses had teased her for four reasons; her  _hair_ , her  _books,_   _cleverness_  and her  _teeth_.

 

To Hermione’s immense relief, both baby teeth had fallen out a few days ago. It was, she’d decided, an extremely strange sensation, walking around without front teeth; but Hermione was smart enough to know that it was a sensation she wouldn’t be enduring for long. With a dash of good fortune, her smile would soon be worth smiling in public, and wouldn’t get her bullied by her new peers.

 

She had always been bullied for her intellect. She was just plain smarter than them, even though, she didn’t try to be. Sure, she would get on with her work, and be finished first; but it wasn’t difficult for her. Once she finished her set tasks, within the lessons, she would read; or engage naturally with adults about what was going on in the world. So while her peers had to complete tasks for homework; she didn’t.

 

Also, she found it hard not to answer questions in class because she wanted to be engaged. She was in school to learn. She wanted to learn. She longed to be challenged. She wasn’t a swot, it wasn’t like she  _actually_  went out and applied herself. She didn’t  _need_  to apply herself; her mind was quick enough without the need to try. She just sucked up knowledge and understanding like a magical super sponge. Then, the answers just fell out of her mouth naturally, she couldn’t stop them.

 

Hermione not applying herself was actually the aniseed of another bunch of arguments she’d had with her parents. They thought, if she’d  _only_  apply herself, she could be a catalyst for change, alter the course of history, even save the world.

 

 _Yeah RIGHT_  she’d always thought. She sighed;  _maybe,_   _in this new world, it was possible for her to do all those things._ _Anything was possible now,_  she thought happily. She looked to her parents to ask their opinion when she realised she’d fallen behind them and they were ahead of her.However, her parents hadn’t noticed; they’d stopped at another shop window. She started making her way to meet them when  _it_  happened.

 

Heading towards her she saw  _him_.

 

Years later, she wouldn’t remember much about it or even exactly what happened.

 

She remembered that there were a tribe of nine redheads heading in her direction; like a loud sea of warm autumnal colour. She wouldn’t remember that there was an air about them, an air of being well cared for, even, though, by their appearance she could tell they didn’t have a lot financially.

 

She wouldn’t remember that there was a stout mother walking purposely ahead. Or that she was flanked by a tall but stocky redhead with longish hair and an older, taller and handsomer redhead. The mother was smaller than both of them but that didn’t stop her fussing them. So they didn’t notice what was going on behind them.

 

Hermione wouldn’t remember that behind those three there was a teenager boy, wearing a shining badge, ideally stroking a rat in his pocket with one hand and proudly carrying an owl cage with the other. She forgot that he shooting the youngest boy, behind him, worried looks while deeply engaged in conversation with an older kindly man; or that they both wore similar glasses. 

 

She wouldn’t even remember that the kindly man was holding hands with the youngest redhead, a girl, with long hair falling around her homemade summer dress. If it had registered, Hermione might have paused to question why, the young girl was talking to the owl; seemingly reassuring it that  _‘the Burrow’_  was very nice.

 

None of these things registered to Hermione because her entire attention was focused on a youngest redheaded boy; stuck between twins, trailing behind the rest. As they drew closer, she automatically tuned her ears to hear the exchange; it was an odd sort of conversation really. They, the twins, were laughing almost musically as they quickly spoke. The boy, in the middle, had been obviously trying to ignore the twins teasing. He was doing quiet a good job of it as well. His head was held high, willing them to shut up; which made him look nearly as tall as his obviously older brothers.

 

So, one twin, mid-conversation, sick of not getting a rise out of his younger brother, pushed the boy into his twin’s side while they were walking. This went on a few times, to and fro, to and fro; in rhythmic time to their conversation.

 

“What if you end up in Slytherin?”

 

“You’ve got the pure blood…”

 

“…and if you don’t survive wrestling the troll…”

 

“Generations of family have but…” 

 

“… it would be such a shame if you couldn’t manage it because…”

 

“…If you’re not in Gryffindor…”

 

“… We’ll disinherit you…”

 

“… but no pressure.”

 

It was then, as she just passed him, and glanced back that  _it_  happened.

 

The young boy lost balance and toppled into Hermione.

 

The packages full of books and other supplies went flying around them in all directions.

 

Hermione and the redhead landed hard on the ground; together.

 

Amazingly, even though he landed on top of her, they weren’t touching. He’d managed to put his hands out in front of him, on either side of her, so even though he should have flattened her; for a split second, his face seemed to hover over hers. Her heart gave a little flutter. Reflexes like that, her football crazed father would describe as being keeper like. As he quickly got up, she caught sight of the twins, looking guilty as they sped up to catch the rest of the redheaded clan.

 

The boy’s face went as bright red as his untidy hair; the blush crept all the way to his ears. He had dirt on his long Grecian nose; which was cute and endearing, in an illogical way. Also, he was muttering something, undoubtedly rude, under his breath.

 

She slightly smiled, because even though his face was sprinkled with freckles, the ones around his mouth weren’t; they were chocolate crumbs that had melted.

 

Then, as he sat just in front of her and hurriedly picked up her books; he joked like it was perfectly understandable for them to be interacting like this. That the two of them being sat together like this, in the middle the street, picking up her kamikaze books, happened daily.

 

“Sorry bout them – Fred and George, I mean, they just get carried away… but never far away from me,” he said in a voice that she was sure she could listen to all day.

 

She smiled wide enough for the gap to show. Hermione knew she should say something; but for the first time in her life her voice and vocabulary failed her. She couldn’t say anything because she was in shock from what had just transpired. It wasn’t the colliding and being on the floor with a redhead but a _moment_.

 

_Just a moment that could have been like another: but wasn’t. It was more._

 

It was  _the_  moment. A look; not even a touch; because she was sure she would have  _known_  if they’d touched at any point. An eternal moment when his eyes met hers, even though hers were hidden by sunglasses, they’d locked. They were the most remarkably expressive and beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. Even through the sun protection, she knew that there were no words to describe the rich blue hue of his eyes.

 

Those eyes were like the Pacific Ocean under virgin sand. Or like the sky on the most brilliant of days. In that moment, she was sure his eyes were the reason the sky was blue; so it could be compared irrationally and unsuccessfully to  _his_  blue. She knew they were her reason. The reason she was born into this world; was to be able to look upon those windows to the soul and see something  _more_  in them than anyone else.

 

He was a puzzle to be figured out through a lifetime of friendly bickering.

 

She saw warmth; a kindness; an undeniable intelligence in those eyes.

 

In short; the man the boy would become.

 

All this Hermione figured in a moment.

 

“Are you ok?” he smiled, a lopsided smile that made his eyes sparkle like pools of light.  _That_  smile didn’t help her regain her composure; it made her want to melt but she was too busy.

 

Way too busy.

 

 _She was swimming in his eyes; drowning in them. His look was intense, as if unknowingly willing her to understand something. She smiled for him,_ with a special smile only for him, _telling him with her heart and eyes that she did; she understood._

 

She slowly nodded, not having the words or will to speak because that moment had changed the course of her life; a fact she didn’t fully comprehend, until some years later, while in a tent mourning his departure. She didn't utter a word to him that day _._ She wasn’t going to tell anyone, not even him when she found her courage; it was a secret for her heart alone.

 

_But she knew. Right then, she knew._

 

_She was a girl. She was a girl and for the first time in her life, she didn’t mind._

 

They stood up slowly. He gave her back her books, smiled,  _that_  smile, again before running off into the crowd towards the tribe.

 

The mother redhead, it seemed, was now doing a head count. As the boy rejoined them he smiled and looked totally at home and adored. The twins it seemed had finally lost interest in their brother and had turned their attention to an empty shop; number ninety six... Why..? She didn’t notice anything else about the redheaded family or care about why the twins were looking at that shop like that because she realised something; something important.

 

The twins had joked about the cute boy being sorted. With a jolt of joy, nearly knocked her down for the second time that day, the thought struck her. _He was going to be a first year too._ It was then that she realised that that moment had changed her.

 

In total, that eternal moment and their whole interaction lasted less than a minute. But the minuet wasn’t important; it was the moment. Hermione processed the new information as she walked up towards her parents.   
  
She noticed they were busy looking in the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium; watching a large orange cat that resembled a small tiger, swatting at a fly.

 

On her way she caught sight of her reflection; and stopped. She looked like a young wizard; not a witch. He heart stopped cold. On the first of September when she saw him again, he wouldn’t recognise her. She would have his face engraved on her mind because of that eternal moment. But for him...

 

For him it would be like he’d never seen her; because he hadn’t. He’d bumped into the tomboy Hermione; hair in a cap, no front teeth, and big sunglasses clad. Not the Hermione she was now. She started walking and thinking fast.

 

By the time she reached them her decision was made. It was time for a change. She was a sure as she felt it was possible to be. She didn’t want to be a tomboy anyone. She wanted to be a girl and a friend. She wanted to be near  _that_  redhead and his eyes and his smile; even if it was just as friends. She wanted for him to see her as a friend and as a girl. But what would make her stand out to him? She wasn’t pretty, but she could work on that as she grew up. What she was, she knew; was smart. Everyone told her so; her parents, her teachers, even the bullies said so.

 

So, logically, Hermione knew he would know lots about the wizarding world; probably spells and history and all sorts of interesting things. She decided she would do background reading and apply herself. Then, on the September 1st on the Hogwarts Express, she would meet him. She smiled shyly.

 

She’d engage him in conversation, be interested in him and maybe he’d do the same. She’d impress him with a fact or a spell and he’d be impressed that she knew these things, even though she didn’t hail from the magical community and then they’d be friends.

 

“Mummy, Daddy,” Hermione said, surprising herself by how strong her voice was even though she felt a new weakness. “Can we go back to the book shop? I need to get some background reading so I know what to expect when I enter Hogwarts.” Her parents looked at her like she was someone else’s child. Hermione devoured books for fun; never study. “I saw some books that would be good. One was called  _Hogwarts: a History_. I want you to be proud of me and I’ve decided I’m going to apply myself. And Proper, Preparation, Prevents, Poor, Performance.” Her parents nodded dumbfounded as they turned to go back into the bookshop. Her father took the now slightly battered books and packages off Hermione, deciding to carry them so she could get all she wanted.

 

“And mum,” Hermione continued as they entered the shop. “I think you were right not to let me cut my hair,” the shock on her mother’s face turned into a dazed smile.

 

“And you know that you wanted to send me off to Hogwarts with a new wardrobe,” she said as she absentmindedly looked for appropriate reading material. “So I ‘ _look more like a young witch then wizard,’_ ” Her mother nodded; shamefully remembering that she’d actually said to her daughter.

 

“I’ve changed my mind. I think that’s a good idea,” Hermione added. “Only, I was thinking, nothing  _too_  girly because I’m me still, Hermione, a witch not a preening tweenage pink fairy.”

 

Her Mother smiled linking arms with her daughter.

 

“Right, Hermione dear  _whatever_  you want. And my I ask what brought on this change in attitude?” Mrs Granger asked lightly.

 

“ _A moment._ Just a moment,” Hermione sighed remembering his eyes. She wandered aimlessly off; humming to herself.

 

Her mother and father recognised that look. Hermione had a crush. Probably on the tall redheaded boy they’d seen darting away from her a minute ago. For once in their life; they played dumb.

* * *

 

 

That night Hermione had a dream.

 

She dreamt, for the first time, of a redheaded groom, with blue eyes to get lost in and a smile that made her melt. Hints that their journey to here started as a friendship, a friendship strewn with arguments and make-up’s; but finally today was their day. Friendship had grown to become love and everyone they knew was here to celebrate that. It was a beautiful wedding and she knew, in her heart of hearts, that there had been lots of magical moment between them.

 

A life time of moments, she knew that would really start, for them both, September 1st on the Hogwarts Express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello reader – 
> 
> The first version of this story ended here; this version has another chapter: special guest appearance from the troll and Hermione's POV of their 'first' meeting. 
> 
> a tweenager – is the Mary-Kate and Ashley consumer market – between the ages of 9 and 12 too old for dolls but too young for boys. Hermione is six weeks off being 12 in this (her Birthday is 19th September this is set the day after Harry's 11th birthday.) so she is within the normal range to feel these feelings.  
> I hope my regular cannon missing moment readers will like this because it for me explains a lot about the Hermione riddle (not to be confused with Riddle-Hermione and the Horcuxes, of which I am writing my first DH fic).  
> The next chapter is very happy!


	3. Troll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was, Hermione's realised, her first milestone into the reality of teenage girlhood; and she wasn't proud of it. She was a really girl now; she hadn't developed physically yet but she knew now that she was indeed fully female.  
> Never in her life before had she felt like this and it was his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quotes are taken from chapter 10 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: which belong to JKR and WB. The rest is mine.  
> It was such a promising start. This is some cannon from Hermione's point of view.

**_ That _ ** ** Halloween: **

Hermione looked at her reflection in the girl's bathroom mirror and was shocked. She'd never seen her eyes so red and puffy, her hair so messy or her school robes so wrinkled.

This was, Hermione's realised, her first milestone into the reality of teenage girlhood; and she wasn't proud of it. She was a really girl now; she hadn't developed physically yet but she knew now that she was indeed fully female.

Never in her life before had she felt like this and it was  _his_  fault.

Hermione now knew the identity of the cute redhead she had encountered in Diagon Alley. The one she'd had the confusing dream about. That dreamily smile and those beautiful eyes; his name was Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Today, in Charms, was the closest they'd been since that _eternal_ moment. Not even when they'd run from Filch and Mrs Norris, and found the big three headed dog, had they been so close. Their fingers had almost grazed. She'd smelt his hair and his abnormally long legs had kept touching her own. However, that had been in a time of panic. Not when she could observe him.

His eyes were as amazing as she recalled; their blue hue had an even greater depth in autumns light. She had noticed that they sparkled differently depending on his mood: annoyed at her, worried about Harry when he flew after the remembrall, excited about Harry's broom or when he saw food... this was the first mystery she’d uncovered.

Hermione told herself she wasn't obsessed. Her start of term priorities were quite normal and natural; pleasing McGonagall (and other teachers) and to make friends with Ron and now Harry too.

The teacher weren't a problem; they all loved her. Apart from Snape but Hermione was sure she could win him round.

Because…

For the first time in her life; Hermione felt challenged and engaged. She’d begun to devourer her texts book like she devourer the great literature of Austin or the Bronte's. The magical world fired her imagination like the 'muggle' world never had. It engaged her intellect until she felt she had to know all of its possibilities. She had already memorized her text books and had started to devour other fascinating library books.

Hogwarts was enjoyable on an unprecedented scale for the twelve year old. She had achieved one out of two of her goal.

However, there was a blip, a hiccup, a fly in the goblet, a piece of food in the teeth concerning her  _'master plan'_  to befriending Ron.

It was a  _slight_  problem; but it had manages to totally stop the plan before she had had a proper chance. Like a fallen leaf, or the  _'wrong type of snow'_  on the railway line of life, it had set everything crashing off course. The problem that couldn't be avoided was... Ronald Bilius Weasley.

He was the most insufferable prat, insensitive wart that she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. A big mouthed insecure nincompoop who mocked her with his continuing existence... The only time he acknowledged her was to be horrid. Everything he said was insulting. His best friend was Harry; they were always together where as she… She didn't have any friends. She was always alone; that's why she was crying.

Her emotions were so out of alignment. Any moment the conflict of emotions would explode and destroy her.

Now a full two months into her magical education Hermione had begun to watch Lavender and Parvati. She wanted to have friends but not enough to try and understand them. They had however given her ideas for her hair. However, neither of them had a problem with fizz so they were little help.

Her hair wasn't the only thing that had altered; her wardrobe had too.

While waiting for her mother at her office one day, she'd picked up a fashion magazine. She found and analysed the article's that lay within their covers about what a girl of her age 'should' like; and although she didn't agree with most of its pre-packaged accretions. It had helped the eleven year old develop a style of her own. Her non-school clothes were now a muted and mature feminine style that she felt entirely herself in.

As she looked in the mirror, this tear stained Hermione was unrecognisable. She was so different now; changed since she had shared that moment with Ron. Three months ago, teasing and such had been below Hermione's notice. Three months ago, she hadn't taken notice of gender labels. Three months ago, she'd been ok, all in all.

Now, a boy said something unkind and she cried. What was more incredible was that she'd missed classes  _all_  day to wallow in self-pity. The same 'boy motivated self-pity' that she'd questioned and laughed about. However, at this moment it didn't feel like something to laugh about. It felt real and liberating to lose control, she let her emotions spill out.

It was like that moment with Ron and his stupidly enthralling eyes had made her realise she was a girl. Now, she was living up to every stereotype; without even trying to stop herself. Fantasists would probably think she had fallen in love with Ron. However, Hermione knew logically that she hadn't. She didn't even think she fancied him.

Her observation of his cuteness was, just that, an observation. She was sure she only wanted to be his friend because he was like a puzzle before her.

By the time she was standing on platform 9 ¾ September 1st, Hermione Granger had been excited and comfortable having her hair down and wearing a skirt. She found a compartment and been joined by some other students: Hannah, Lavender, Seamus, the Patil twins and Neville. Then, Trevor, Neville's toad had done a bunk like some POW in the Great Escape. Neville had gone after him, only to come back disappointed and defeated.

To Hermione, however, it had been brilliant opportunity; the perfect ploy. She could be a friend to Neville, by helping him hunt for Trevor, whilst exploring the train. She entertained herself with  _'the love of the chase'_ , of toad _AND_ the cute redhead.

Hermione had silently giggled to herself about calling him that; but what else was she to call him?

As it turned out, he was sat with _Harry Potter_ of all people. Her heart had sunk. How could she compete with _him_ : especially since they seemed to be having such a good time with their sweets? What was so thrilling is that he was just about to do some magic. She thought  _perfect I'll be able to strike up conversation about that_.

It was soon clear that Ron hadn't recognised her. He stared at her like she was some kind of alien.

He couldn't be blame; she did look different now. Her smile had changed because her teeth had grown, and now she wished they'd stayed baby teeth. Her parents promised braces, which was not a comforting thought at all. The mere suggestion of a magical solution had meet with such a reaction, that Hermione started to wonder what the point of magic could be.

What was the use of her spell books and other background information if she couldn't make herself happy? In so doing, help her chances of make friends; a bit. She knew if she could shrink her two front teeth, her smile would give her a bit more confidence.

She'd argued with her parents. She was right to argue, for no matter what she had done, over the past two awful months at magical school, Hermione Granger had remained friendless. She remained on the sidelines while those around her enjoyed the bonds of new friendship.

It was no use, thinking these things. They were like a broken wand; useless and frustrating. All she wanted to be was his friend and she'd ruined it.

She'd been nervous so babbled her introduction: speaking at a speed she didn't know she was capable of. Concentrating on the magic had calmed her a little bit. She'd sat down and waited to see his magical skill, ready to be impressed; nothing had happened.

The spell had been a dud. The rat had remained the colour he was; he hadn't changed one little bit. Then, her mouth had disengaged from her brain, it had taken over and things had gone downhill from there. All the information her brain had soaked up during the holidays came spilling out.

That was the first time she realised being a girl, a bookworm and herself wasn't going to be easy. Up until then, the transition from Tomboy to bookworm had been surprisingly easy. She loved books already and discovered that trying at school was surprisingly easy and even enjoyable.

Hermione's overall plan had, however, failed because even though she'd tried to be a friend to Ron… and even Harry, their friendship was denied her. Her advice, her help had seemed like nagging and as such they'd ignored her. She felt sure it only seemed like nagging because they didn't know her.

She had spent long sleepless nights, listening to Lavenders snores, lamenting the entire realm of if-only. Like if only she'd met him earlier on the train, before Harry had; if only she'd not walked into his compartment when he was trying to turn that ugly rat yellow; or if only Fred and George had given him a proper spell.

As Hermione stood in the girl's bathroom; she looked around her. She had been trying to ignore the nagging feeling; she had been a fool. It had been the height of girlish naivety to contemplate that this school would be different from 'muggle' school.

_Children_  were  _children_ ; magical or muggle born, there was no difference. Ron was just the biggest child of them all.

What had happened earlier that day echoed in her brain. All that there was, to her, was Ronald Weasley's words to Harry Potter.

_Ron was in a very bad temper by the end of the class._ She hadn't meant to but when she'd tried to help him today in Charms, her helping had come out all wrong. She'd only irritated him,  _again_ ; made him feel stupid without meaning to. It wasn't her fault that he didn't have a wand that suited him and wasn't a book learner.

It was like the train all over again. How can he feel stupid? How could he be so cruel? Hadn't she seen intelligence and an inner kindness in his eyes when they'd shared that moment? Or had she just romanticized that part of that eternal moment: Over analyzed it as it had replayed repeatedly.

Now another moment was stuck on replay in her mind’s eye: as nasty as the other was sweet.

_'It's no wonder no one can stand her,'_ he _had said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. 'She's a nightmare, honestly.'_

She'd overheard many unkind comments during her life but that was the first to affect her.

His words hurt and she'd realized that she needed to get away.

Then, she'd  _knocked into Harry as_ she _hurried past him._ It startled her realizes the wet on her face was her own bitter tears; she was crying _. Harry_ must have  _caught a glimpse of_ her  _face –_ because he seemed as _startled_ as she  _to see_ her _in tears._

_'I think she heard you.'_ She'd heard Harry say to Ron as she'd gone past.

_'So?'_ she caught  _Ron_ say _, but he_ sounded _a bit uncomfortable. 'She must've noticed she's got no friends.'_

"Yes, I had noticed Ronald." Hermione wanted to shout; but the words were stifled by tears. For an hour, she'd been alone in here, mindlessly crying. Hopelessly, trying to rationalize these emotions that had welled in sided of her. Her tears, over Ron and his brutally honest words, ebbed and flowed like the sea meeting the shore.

She'd gotten through a whole roll of toilet paper, when a very nice Prefect called Penelope had come in. She'd only been there for a few minutes to use the bathroom; but had spoken to her kindly.

Hermione asked her to  _"leave her alone"_  but Penelope had kindly pointed out that;  _'if, indeed'_ , Hermione  _'wanted to be alone she should use Moaning Myrtles bathroom on the second floor'._ This observation had made Hermione smile, if only weakly.

Tearful, she explained that it was something Ron Weasley had said that had upset her. Penelope had been sympathetic confessing that  _all_  Weasley men were insufferable. They got better as they matured.

Penelope then said something about Percy Weasley that had made Hermione blush. She'd stayed longer than was truly necessary making her late for class. Before she left, she'd spoken words of encouragement but confessed that it was best for Hermione to cry it out. She'd transfigured an old piece of parchment into a glass so Hermione could have some water. After she had left; Hermione had been nearly been ready to leave when the true irony of Ron's statement, hit her.

Ron, the first boy she had had a dream about; had called her a nightmare.

The first person she wanted to be friends; with had called her friendless.

She'd laugh if it wasn't so sad.

So painful.

So true.

Every time she thought like this, she cried more until she feared she could cry no more. She never cried over the bullies at her old school. She couldn't put her finger on  _why;_ but Ron had gotten under her skin. He could make her happy or sad; angry or calm. That juxtaposition of emotions, the power he could yield, both scared and confused her.

Throughout the day, Hermione had been surprised by how many times her roommate Parvati had come in to see her. She suspected that Penelope had sent her in; thinking that the roommates were friends. However, Hermione had been suspicious of her intentions and was worried that she'd tell Lavender. The girl that had irked Hermione since they’d first met her.

It was dark now and Hermione felt ready for a nice long bath. It would be the last she would have in this castle because Hermione had decided that she just wasn't cut out for magical school. Ever fibre in her being dreaded the look of disappointment in McGonagall's face but it couldn't be helped.

If she'd fitted in and had made just one friend it would be different. And sure, she knew that her parents would be confused and disappointed; however, she didn't feel like she could stand staying in this place feeling so alone. This decision made her feel upset and relieved at the same time. No more snoring Lavender, no more people talking about Quidditch, but most of all, no more Ron. All she would have to do was speak with McGonagall in the morning and her life would return to dull unchallenging 'normally'.

The relief was short lived. Suddenly, she began to retch.  A foul stench of old socks and unclean public toilets had become overpowering. She wondered if it could be one of the stalls so she popped her head around the door.  _It just needs a flush_  she thought blithely.

She had hurried into what she thought was the offending loo nearest the door. When she heard a low grunting and some shuffling, then something heavy started to run across the titled floor. Hermione dropped to her knees and looked though the gap between the floor and the door she saw, huge feet covered in granite grey skin; next to them sat a club.

Hermione knew what it was. She'd read all about them. Knew what to do but shock and panic had frozen her brain. All she could think was: why would a male troll need the girl's bathroom? Her wand was the other end of the bathroom with her bag. She wanted to scream but nothing came out.

Then, between the heavy breathing of the troll she heard a sound that sent her emotions into overdrive. It was the soft click of the door locking. Not thinking, she opened the stall door. The troll saw her and she heard a scream. She was surprised to realise that the scream of terror was coming from her.

Hermione ran, screaming, as fast as she could towards the wall on the far side. Hoping against hope, she could get to her wand from under the sink. She didn't have a plan after that; but having a wand was a start.

The troll lumbered after her greedy like he was a toddler chasing a favourite toy. As she got to the sink she cowered for safety. The troll, in his stupidity, began to close the distance on them not noticing he was knocking sinks off the wall as he advanced.

Not noticing that he was sending pipes and taps and bits of sink everywhere.

Not noticing that water was now gushing everywhere like a group of mothers over a new baby.

What happened next happened very fast. She was shrinking against the wall, nearly sitting on her bag, reaching for her wand underneath her, feeling very faint; when she heard the most amazing sound.

" _Confuse it!"_  shouted the desperate voice of Harry Potter. Hermione heard a metal clunk; the troll stopped. It looked round seeing a new target; away from the water that threatened to wash him clean. The troll began to advance on Harry.

Then, Hermione truly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was going to be ok because she heard a yell.

" _Oy, pea-brain!"_

Ron's voice was both a shock and reassurance. It made her forget her faintness. It came from the other side of the chamber. There was a thud and a clatter that the troll didn't register as a heavy metal pipe landed on the ground. The ugly brut turned and faced Ron; upset by the insult.

Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry shouting:

" _Come on, run, run,"_  but Hermione was too transfixed by Ron. He was still insulting the troll, walking backwards. Terror gripped her as she worried about his safely.

Then, she notice Harry was suddenly gone and on the troll. He had taken some kind of flying jump onto the troll and was now hanging there around his neck like a human necklace: a human necklace sticking a wand up its snout. The troll started to howl with pain. A terrible sound that seemed to echo around the walls that made Hermione sank to the floor; unable to think; unable to breath.

It was only Ron's voice that brought her back to the reality of the situation.

" _Wingardium Leviosa,"_  he cried and unlike earlier in class, the spell worked. The troll was hit by his own club. Harry looked relieved, Ron looked triumphant but he stood like a statue his wand still raised while the troll looked dead.

Hermione stood up slowly and walked over to the shadow nearest Ron; as if a sleep walker seeking safety in the shadows by his side. As if the combination of the two of them would save her should the Troll come up again for round two.

" _Is it – dead?"_  she asked.

" _I don't think so,"_  said Harry.  _"I think it's just been knocked out"._  He bent over and retrieved his wand.

" _Urgh – troll bogies,"_  he said wiping his wand on his trousers.

Before Hermione had an opportunity to ask what they should do next; the door slammed open. Professor McGonagall marched in quickly followed by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell.

They seemed shocked. As Professor Snape examined the troll; Professor McGonagall fixed Harry and Ron with a glare. She looked as angry as it was possible to be when she realised that it was Harry there. For an instance, Hermione thought it wasn't a teacher kind of angry but a grandmotherly type. It was only a flash and Hermione was never sure she'd actually seen it.

" _What on earth were you thinking of_?" said Professor McGonagall, with a cold fury that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. While, they looked to each other for answers Hermione's mind kicked into overdrive.

" _You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory_?" she asked and Hermione knew what she had to do. She didn't like it but it was the right thing to do in payment for them saving her. She'd start with the truth and go from there.

" _Please, Professor McGonagall,"_  Hermione said in a small soft voice that seemed wake the teachers from a fury endured trance.  _"They were looking for me."_

" _Miss Granger!"_  Professor McGonagall cried in a voice of disappointment that nearly made Hermione loose her nerve.

" _I went looking for the troll because I..._ "

' _Why would I do such a stupid thing?'_  She thought quickly.

" _...I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read about them."_

' _That's right_   _I'll weave the lie out of bits of truth'_  Hermione thought  _'blame all the books you stuffed into your head over the summer.'_

Then Hermione heard a sound that made the lie worth it. Ron dropped his wand in surprise. She took her opportunity to shot him a quick look; willing him to understand.

Their eyes met and it was her turn to try and communicate something without words.  _Look I'm more than a know-it-all Ron. Please give me a chance. I'm going to get you out of trouble._

' _Well in for a penny in for a pound'_  she thought as she looked backed to Professor McGonagall.

" _If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now."_ She admitted wanting to weep.

There's a bit of truth there; I would be dead without them. I'll tell them the truths from now; how brave Ron and Harry were just hope they play along and don't get all noble.

" _Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."_  Hermione looked to Harry and Ron to back her did and thankfully they did. Hermione moved so she was standing in between the two of them.

Professor McGonagall started to stare at the three of them as if seeing them for the first time clearly.

" _Well – in that case…"_  she said turning to face Hermione. _"Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"_  Hermione hung her head wanting to cry; but found she had none left within her.

" _Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you."_  Hermione felt as if her heart was going to break at this point; Never had a teacher said that to her before.  _"If you are not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."_

As Hermione left she felt numb and thought of nothing. What had she done?

The common room was uncommonly busy and noisy when Hermione entered. Everyone was eating and enjoying themselves. The entire house stared at her when she entered. However, no one approached her.

She realised she was very hungry but decided to wait for Ron and Harry by herself near the door.

As they came in they saw her standing and there; and they all gave a weak but grateful smile. There was an embarrassing pause; when they didn't dare look at each other.

Then all of a sudden, they all muttered thanks and went to start on the feast. Hermione’s heart gave a leap; she wasn’t alone anymore.

As Hermione stood in the cue for the food, behind Ron, he looked back at her for a moment. And there it was; the warmth she remembered from that summer's day. It was a look. Not a touch or anything said with words. She felt it and smiled shyly as she took a moment to look into his eyes and meet his gaze.

He smiled shyly too and that's when she was sure. She was sure she would stay because now, finally, after two months, Ron Weasley was her friend.

And for now; that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wanted to write this story for a while. My pre-Hogwarts R/Hr story seemed incomplete without it. When looking at the character of Hermione: I always get the impression that her liking for books and not being a giggling girl was due to a past full of not fitting in. It's a very popular theory: my version is of course that she was a Tomboy.
> 
> This story fits in with the rest of my R/Hr universe.
> 
> Hope you like this and if you have suggestions as to how I can improve it or other moments you want the JustSuperMione treatment... let me know.
> 
> She-who-must-be-reviewed

**Author's Note:**

> More to come


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